Liars in A Row (Book 1, 2 & 3)

t h i r t e e n : london in the morning

Marlene Pryce was gone but there was Rhea, her younger sister, another symbol of her mother. Rhea had been born a week prematurely with four congenital heart problems. The doctors waited seven days before the open-heart surgery. Rhea was diagnosed with narrowing of the aortic arch, abnormal blood flow between the heart's arteries, multiple holes in the heart and Bicuspid Aortic Valve.

Darien remembered seeing her after the surgery. Her eyes had been puffy. There had been stitches on her small chest that had made Darien sob like a baby herself.

And, one day, ten years later, Rhea had returned home from school, crying. When asked, she had responded saying, "I can't wear a lacrosse jersey at the practice. The girls in the team laugh at my scar."

"But it's a part of you, Rhe."

"I don't want it. It makes me feel ugly."

"You're not ugly, Rhe."

"How would you know?! You're perfect."

That had halted Darien in her place. Who was she to tell Rhea to accept her flaws now? Would Ibrahim ever look at her if she didn't look like this? Perhaps not. The truth was always bitter.

Darien sighed at the mere thought of being wanted just for how she looked as she stood before the steamy mirror of her bathroom. Her skin was still warm from the shower when she patted herself dry and tugged at the shower cap. Long black hair, dry and shiny, spilled down her back, a few strands of it sticking to her skin. She, usually, got up earlier in the morning, somewhere between five thirty to six. But she had spent last night talking to her father about his stay in UAE.

The hallway was deserted and quiet when she passed by Rhea's room. From what it looked like, Rhea and her father were fast asleep. Even Lotte was. Darien sat on the plush velvet sofa of the living room and put on her trainers, her ponytail touching the floor as she bent to tie the laces.

Kensington was cold this morning. The early risers were out for the bustle, standing at the bus stands. The London sun shimmered above Darien like a polish as she ran down Kensington road. There were, of course, a few people around – one was never completely alone in London – but even the buses and trains seemed quieter.

Darien's white trainers mounted down the path by the Albert hall memorial. Like her, there were many men and women in their running gears, listening to music just like she was. "Every Breath You Take" blared through her earphones. Minutes had passed when she reached the Sussex gardens and turned left onto London street. 

It was the atmosphere that made her halt on her feet.

Under the rows of white residential buildings, clad in a gray hoodie and black running tights, tall Darien Pryce looked eerily small. She pulled out the earphones and looked around, seeing almost no one on the street. A strange feeling grasped her when she heard the footsteps behind her. Very slowly, she pulled out her phone, held it high as if checking for reception and stared at the sleeping screen.

Three men aII in running gear, were behind her. At first it felt normal. But when she halted again after resuming to run, those men did the same. It was then Darien recognized the feeling as fear.

She ran for her life, her long black ponytail flying behind her. Instinctively, she reached for her hair and pulled it forward to tuck it inside her hoodie while she ran. She couldn't risk getting her hair grabbed. She had seen enough crime thrillers to be this paranoid. But she could be just silly by thinking she was being followed when those three blokes were probably just out for a run.

The problem was they weren't. They were indeed following her until she reached Finchley road. Not only there were countless people here, but also those men were nowhere to be seen. Darien stood before a store named 'Abbey Properties', looking at two trees that would make Christmas look brighter across her. Then she looked behind to see.